By: Aristophanes ; Translated by George Theodoridis

By: Aristophanes ; Translated by George Theodoridis

By: Aeschylus ; Translated by George Theodoridis

Classic Literature

Excerpt: We are surprised by the fact that though we see no one on the stage we hear, somewhere in the deep of darkness, the solitary voice of a man humming nervously to himself - an awkward, tentative tune, full of fear and foreboding.

By: Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid) ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: There is a myth that is at the heart of the myths. It is a myth of Crete, but annexed to a myth of Athens, and it contains a metaphor, a set of metaphors, about art. Beautiful in itself, and ultimately mysterious in the power of its associations it refers beyond itself to the whole artistic, perhaps also the whole scientific project. The central myth is about Theseus, and Ariadne and the Labyrinth at Cnossos, but parallel to it and interwoven with it is the myth of Daedalus, the maker.

By: Anna Akhmatova ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: ?Now the pillow?s,? Now the pillow?s, hot on both sides. A second candle dies, the ravens cry there, endlessly. No sleep all night, too late to think of sleep? How unbearably white the blind?s white deep. Hello, Morning!

By: Anna Akhmatova ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: ?Now the pillow?s,? Now the pillow?s, hot on both sides. A second candle dies, the ravens cry there, endlessly. No sleep all night, too late to think of sleep? How unbearably white the blind?s white deep. Hello, Morning!

By: Sophocles ; Translated by George Theodoridis

By: Sophocles ; Translated by George Theodoridis

By: Guillaume Apollinaire ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: Under the Mirabeau flows the Seine And our amours Shall I remember it again Joy always followed after Pain Comes the night sounds the hour The days go by I endure Hand in hand rest face to face While underneath The bridge of our arms there races So weary a wave of eternal gazes Comes the night sounds the hour The days go by I endure Love vanishes like the water?s flow Love vanishes How life is slow And how Hope lives blow by blow Comes the night sounds the hour ...

By: Guillaume Apollinaire ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: Under the Mirabeau flows the Seine And our amours Shall I remember it again Joy always followed after Pain Comes the night sounds the hour The days go by I endure Hand in hand rest face to face While underneath The bridge of our arms there races So weary a wave of eternal gazes Comes the night sounds the hour The days go by I endure Love vanishes like the water?s flow Love vanishes How life is slow And how Hope lives blow by blow Comes the night sounds the hour ...

By: Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid) ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: Should anyone here not know the art of love, read this, and learn by reading how to love. By art the boat?s set gliding, with oar and sail, by art the chariot?s swift: love?s ruled by art. Automedon was skilled with Achilles? chariot reins, Tiphys in Thessaly was steersman of the Argo, Venus appointed me as guide to gentle Love: I?ll be known as Love?s Tiphys, and Automedon. It?s true Love?s wild, and one who often flouts me: but he?s a child of tender years, fi...

By: Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid) ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: Should anyone here not know the art of love, read this, and learn by reading how to love. By art the boat?s set gliding, with oar and sail, by art the chariot?s swift: love?s ruled by art. Automedon was skilled with Achilles? chariot reins, Tiphys in Thessaly was steersman of the Argo, Venus appointed me as guide to gentle Love: I?ll be known as Love?s Tiphys, and Automedon. It?s true Love?s wild, and one who often flouts me: but he?s a child of tender years, fi...

By: Anonymous ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: The author is unknown. The piece was clearly intended for acting out, and the manuscript itself contains musical phrases in trochaic mode, written in troubadour style showing notes and intervals but not rhythm. Readers interested in further comment on, might enjoy reading Walter Pater?s essay of 1872 in his collection...

By: Anonymous ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: The piece was clearly intended for acting out, and the manuscript itself contains musical phrases in trochaic mode, written in troubadour style showing notes and intervals but not rhythm. Readers interested in further comment on, might enjoy reading Walter Pater?s essay of 1872 in his collection...

By: Euripides ; Translated by George Theodoridis

Classic Literature

Excerpt: Before the royal palace of Thebes. The wall which depicts the palace has three doors, the main door at the centre and two other smaller ones on either side. Two or three steps separate the palace from the ground.

By: Charles Baudelaire ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: N?est ce pas qu?il est doux. Is it not pleasant, now we are tired, and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires in the furthest East, where, again, we might see morning?s new dawn, and, in mad history, hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives?

By: Charles Baudelaire ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: N?est ce pas qu?il est doux. Is it not pleasant, now we are tired, and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires in the furthest East, where, again, we might see morning?s new dawn, and, in mad history, hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives?

By: Charles Baudelaire ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: N?est ce pas qu?il est doux. Is it not pleasant, now we are tired, and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires in the furthest East, where, again, we might see morning?s new dawn, and, in mad history, hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives?

By: Charles Baudelaire ; Translated by A.S. Kline

Classic Literature

Excerpt: N?est ce pas qu?il est doux. Is it not pleasant, now we are tired, and tarnished, like other men, to search for those fires in the furthest East, where, again, we might see morning?s new dawn, and, in mad history, hear the echoes, that vanish behind us, the sighs of the young loves, God gives, at the start of our lives?